This is a group blog written by reporters and editors of The National newspaper in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates.

October 19, 2008

When sitting in front is a mistake

Ann Marie McQueen

I really should have known better

I have always wondered about people who sit in the front seat of taxis, with the driver. I once had a boyfriend from the east coast of Canada, where it seems everyone is friendly, and he would always hop in the front seat. I used to wonder if maybe he really didn't want to sit in the back with me. And I always saw it as being just a little too close for comfort.

Then I got here, and noticed tons of British people do it. I even saw one of our editors once, riding in a taxi, him in the front seat, his wife in the back. So maybe it's a British thing. Except when I once visited jolly olde, I only rode around in those massive, famous black taxis, and no one sits in the front of those.

All that to say, where I come from, when you take a cab, you sit in the back. The only time you sit in the front is when all the back seats are taken. I think the drivers prefer this, judging from the bulletproof plexiglass that divides the two sections.

I have been persuaded to sit in the front seat of a cab in Abu Dhabi twice now, and I won't ever do it again. The first time, I worked really, really late and was waiting for a taxi in vain. A man who was coming home for the night, done work, said he would give me a ride. He told me I was never going to get another cab at that hour, at that location. He persuaded me to sit in the front seat, and since he was being so friendly, I thought, why not? Well, I will tell you why not. Because it was 2 am, and he obviously figured his kind gesture gave him the right to hassle me all the way home. Or more likely, he made his kind gesture so as to be able to better hassle me all the way home. "Be my girlfriend," he said. "Just for tonight."

I ended up getting quite stern, threatening to call the police, and telling him to stop talking and drive. Never again, I thought.

Then this week, another very late night at work. I had waited quite awhile for a cab, so when one pulled over, I was again, very grateful. When I went to get in the back seat, the driver motioned that door was broken. My intuition tingled — it was, after all, one of the brand spanking new silver cabs — but I was so intent on getting home I ignored it. Then, all the way, like a cat in heat, the driver moaned and groaned about being single. "Be my girlfriend," he said. "Tonight only."

“Do these guys talk to each other?” I thought. Sigh: cue stern tone, threats to call police, admonishments to stop talking and drive. And, of course, a resolution that this would not happen again: you aren't going to see me making the same mistake three times.